


WIB

by stgulik



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Men in Black (Movies)
Genre: Crossover, F/M, Funny, Men in Black - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-12
Updated: 2015-03-08
Packaged: 2018-03-12 00:49:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3338018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stgulik/pseuds/stgulik
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The planet Earth is in dire need of security. Lucius and Severus are in dire need of employment. Well, at least the suits are black.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> This story, which appeared in the 2015 Severus Fest on Livejournal, was based on a picture of Severus Snape and Lucius Malfoy posed like Mr. Smith and Mr. Jones from the original "Men in Black" movie. (http://www.missmalini.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/05/MIB.jpg ) When I saw it, I was inspired to write my first crossover story. This story is complete in four chapters. (Well, five at the most!) All my love to Teddyradiator for her encouragement.

The Ministry personnel clerk sitting across from Severus Snape kept her head down for an inordinately long time, writing nonsense words and pretending to look engrossed. Severus fought the urge to hex her. She had no business putting on an act with him; the Ministry job that was on the line was hardly a bargain. No one in their right mind would want it: the pay was laughably bad and the assigned duties were so dull as to shrivel one’s cerebral cortex from disuse. He had already had the privilege of being turned down for jobs far more interesting and lucrative than this one. 

The interviewer finally looked up and sighed gamely. “Right, then, there’s just one last question for you, Mr. Snape.” She read off her page. “’Why do you hope to work as Chief Records Clerk for the Department of Magical Equipment Control?’”

As she sat with her quill poised to record his every golden word, he took a deep breath and, for one mad moment, contemplated going against ingrained habit and telling her the bald-faced truth. _Madam, if you must know, I am a forty-something ex-spy with no money and no prospects. My previous position was professor at Hogwarts. In fact, I was_ your _professor, a fact you undoubtedly remember. One of my former employers was a megalomaniac who manipulated events with almost no regard for the lives he affected. The other was Lord Voldemort._

 _After the war and a lengthy convalescence, I was acquitted for my part in certain events, but the Board of Governors, in its infinite wisdom, would not see fit to renew my contract at Hogwarts. I was, as they say, made redundant. From that time to this, I’ve been barely scraping by on a pitiful Ministry stipend. And why? Because, madam, I am toxic, and no one will hire me._

Looking at the doubt in the eye of his interviewer, Severus knew, even without Occlumency, that this department would be no exception. Suddenly, he was fed up with the woman, the interview, the whole Ministry. He let out the breath he was holding and stood up. “Madam, this position is no longer of interest to me,” he said with as much dignity as he could muster. “I believe I’ve wasted enough of your valuable time. Good day.” 

He bowed before showing himself out of the office, striding down the hall as quickly as he could without breaking into a run. There was no point in returning to the Personnel office to see if any other positions were open. It was time to think of something else. Perhaps—

He rounded a corner and crashed into a witch carrying a gigantic box. They both fell down in a tangled heap while the box flew out of her hands, scattering pamphlets every which way. Workers laughed or tsked as they carefully stepped around the collision site, while Severus stood up and awkwardly began helping the young witch to her feet. 

“Thank you, sir. Oh, no,” she groaned when she looked around. “What a mess.”

“My apologies, miss,” said Severus. “Allow me.” He pulled out his wand and gave a flick. Pamphlets began to drift back into the box. 

“No harm done, except maybe to my dignity,” replied the woman ruefully, looking down as she brushed off her robes. “I mean, what was I thinking, carrying this box by hand? I should know better—” When she raised her eyes to his face, her smile turned into a look of surprise. “Professor Snape!” she cried. 

He looked at her face more closely. “Surely it’s not Hermione Granger?”

“The very same,” she replied with a smile. “How are you, sir? I haven’t seen you since … well, not for years.” 

She offered her hand again, this time in greeting, and he held it for a shade longer than was proper. They easily fell into conversation there in the hallway, and before long, he found himself inviting her to lunch at the Leaky Cauldron. Over tea and sandwiches, he told her the story of surviving a near-fatal injury during the war, thanks to the timely arrival of Poppy Pomfrey and Neville Longbottom, who discovered him in the Shrieking Shack, close to death. She cleared her throat at that, and tried to apologize for something or other, but he found he did not want to hear it, whatever it was; he waved her explanations away and steered the conversation to that of her life and her career track. 

“Well, there isn’t much to tell,” she laughed. “I work for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures now, but I don’t like my job.” Severus dourly contemplated the irony of a world where he was perpetually unemployed while others served in positions they felt they could do without. 

Hermione stirred a fresh cup of tea. “I mean, I wish I did like it. I’m the deputy director, but don’t let the title fool you. I have no power over policy, much as I’d like it. Any changes I wish to make involve so many committee meetings, Wizengamot hearings, red tape and paperwork, it’s not worth it. I basically do odd jobs the director doesn’t want. Here! Look how busy and important I am.” She had brought along one of her pamphlets to show him. On the front was a drawing of a little creature with large eyes. “There have been all these sightings of a creature no one’s ever heard of before. I drew a composite picture and printed these pamphlets to distribute in the Lake District.” Hermione rolled her eyes. “Next, they’ll send me to the Arctic to look for Bigfoot.”

All in all, Severus was charmed by Hermione Granger. In the years since the war ended, she had become a young woman of quick wit, with the sort of ease of manner Severus had always admired because he did not possess it himself. He was impressed with the way she had learned how to laugh at herself and at the Wizarding world. Also, she was unattached, and she seemed to have time for him. By the time the check came (for which he insisted on paying, though it nearly emptied his wallet, not that he let on), he was well on his way to being in lust with her. 

However, he had no intention of making a move in that direction. Experience had taught him no woman of Hermione Granger’s caliber would ever fancy an older man who had fallen as far down the social ladder as he had. It was only a matter of time before she forgot him and went on her way; for the sake of dignity, he wanted to be the first to do the forgetting. So after lunch ended and he escorted her back to the Ministry atrium, he made his polite good-byes. 

“Thank you for coming out with me. It was very enjoyable,” he said sincerely. “I won’t soon forget your idea of casting Minister Shacklebolt as an American film action hero, though I rather see him as a swashbuckling pirate, not a Jedi knight.” 

Hermione gave a peal of laughter and assured him she had had a good time as well. Severus bent and kissed her hand with a flourish, then turned and walked to the Floos. Time spent in the company of a pretty woman had revived his spirit and renewed his sense of purpose. Severus Snape was determined to find his place in wizarding Britain. If he could not scrounge a public service job, he would start looking for a business investor. And he knew just where to begin.

* * *

_The war had changed everything for Lucius Malfoy. Once, he had been the scion of a powerful, influential family. Now he was alone, knocking about a huge, empty house that was as useless as he had become. He had barely avoided a life sentence in prison, yet it was as if he had placed himself under voluntary house arrest. Day after day, he roamed restlessly through a mansion that had once been a seat of power; now it was little more than a mausoleum for terrible memories._

_No one trusted him; no one wanted to be seen with him. He had long since been removed from the Board of Governors at Hogwarts. Ministry officials did not value his counsel, and his influence had dried up. As for the Malfoy family fortune, it had dwindled to nearly nothing; in his quest for power, he had drained is accounts in the service of a tyrant. Now he had no special acquaintances, almost no friends. He was the last, dying breath of an era that valued the purity of blood above all._

_He had thought his life was over…_

“… until Wednesday, that is,” said Lucius in conclusion, “when something extraordinary happened to me.”

“Oh? And what was that?” asked Severus absently. It was the day after his aborted job interview. His attention was only half on Lucius Malfoy’s maudlin introspection, most of which he had already heard before. Instead, his mind dwelled on the delectable Hermione Granger. Severus turned the pamphlet she had given him in his fingers, daydreaming. 

Lucius, who sat in an adjoining chair, regarded Severus over his tented fingers. “I don’t believe you’ve been paying attention at all,” he observed.

“I have,” Severus objected. “Last week I heard that Narcissa has chosen to … extend her stay in France,” he said delicately, “to help Draco and his bride settle in. It doesn’t surprise me you’ve been at loose ends for a while.” Severus diplomatically neglected to mention the snide remarks in Pansy Parkinson’s gossip column, or the half-dozen or so drunken Floo calls placed to Severus’ home in the past year. Lucius was his friend, and friends overlooked such things unless tactically necessary.

Uneasily, he eyed the pensieve, which had been moved out of its customary cabinet and lay waiting, shimmering, on the library table. Severus knew perfectly well what was coming. Lucius wanted to show him something—a memory. But first, for whatever reason, Lucius felt it necessary to build the suspense, such as it was. Severus stifled a yawn and glanced at Hermione’s pamphlet again. 

_Have you seen this creature?_ demanded the title.

 _Oh, yes,_ he thought. _And would like to see her again, more’s the pity._

Lucius regarded him steadily, without the rancor that might usually be stirred up after having been ignored. The look he leveled at him was unsettling, and Severus again wondered what was brewing. 

“Perhaps it is time, as they say, to show rather than tell.” Lucius stood abruptly and gestured Severus toward the table where the pensieve lurked, its silver depths quivering with dark potential. 

Here it was at last. Severus stayed where he was. “Show me what, exactly?” he asked.

Lucius sketched a smile. “Something … unusual.” 

With a mistrustful look, Severus stood and crossed the room to the table. He stepped forward and dipped his head carefully—

—and came face-to-face with a huge, bug-eyed monster that stood upon four legs; its massive arms, claws extended, reaching for Severus while it bared its fangs … three impossible rows of fangs … and lunged straight for him. 

Severus jerked his head out of the pensieve. “Holy fuck!” He staggered back, arms pinwheeling, until he knocked against a shelf and fell to the floor in a pile of fallen books. “What the bloody hell was that?” 

Lucius delicately adjusted the ascot at his throat. “Do I have your attention now?” he asked.

* * *

He helped Severus to his chair and plied him with a large brandy to steady his nerves. It took more than a few gulps before Severus found his voice. “What the bloody hell was that _thing_?” he demanded. “Did you _see_ that thing? Is that _your_ memory? Did you witness—?” He clamped his lips together to keep from babbling like a third-year. Drawing a deep breath, he straightened his coat and looked the other man in the eye. “Lucius, has that memory been tampered with?”

Lucius frowned and his lip curled in distaste. “I’m insulted. This is Malfoy Manor, not a flea circus. It is my memory, and it is genuine, I assure you. What you saw was an authentic … erm, creature.” He smiled. “When you’re ready, I’d like you to see the rest. Certain events will be easier to discuss with you if you review the rest of this memory firsthand.” He helped Severus to his feet again. “Have you recovered your wits yet?” 

“Yes.” Annoyed, Severus shrugged off the solicitous hand.

“Then come along.” Lucius gestured at the pensieve. “This time, I’ll join you and explain along the way.”

Severus’ first impulse was to say no. He was sure he had just been the victim of a prank of the sort concocted by a bored, housebound man. He was reluctant to let it happen again—Lucius was smirking enough already. But curiosity won out over pride. Without a word, he took a step to the bowl, took a deep breath and entered the pensieve again. 

Lucius was as good as his word, taking his place by Severus’ side at once. This time, Severus managed to take in the fact they were standing in a forest full of old-growth oak and elm trees so densely populous, they all but blocked the sun overhead. However, he spied the manor through a small break in the trees, providing much-needed orientation. They were on Malfoy land.

In the gloom, the creature was even taller than before, now that it had extended its backward-jointed legs to full height. The arms ended in hands with long, sharp claws. And the rows of teeth below maleficent, yellow bug eyes … Severus noted he had counted correctly: three rows, long ones. He shuddered.

Then the creature opened its mouth more fully and roared. Only Lucius’ hand on his arm kept Severus from leaping out of the memory a second time.

“Steady, old boy,” murmured Lucius. 

From behind them, the Lucius Malfoy belonging in this memory stepped into view. This Lucius’ initial reaction was gratifyingly human, Severus noted smugly. But a second later, smugness turned to grudging admiration: memory-Lucius had pulled his wand and began throwing hexes with lightning speed. At first, wand fire merely bounced off the tough green hide, seeming only to cause the creature more anger than pain. But at last a stray bolt entered the creature’s open mouth, where it seemed to hit a vulnerable spot. The creature was flung backwards with a cry, crashed against an elm and fell to the forest floor. 

A new voice spoke from behind them. “Now that,” it said, “was bloody brilliant.” 

Memory-Lucius whirled, wand at the ready. From behind a tree stepped a Muggle in an ordinary black suit and tie. In his own way, the new man was as appalling a presence as the unconscious monster at their feet, for no Muggle had set foot on Malfoy land since Roman times. 

“Where did you come from?” demanded memory-Lucius.

“Belfast,” replied the Muggle calmly. He nudged one of the four legs with the point of a black shoe.

The man’s reserve seemed to make Lucius angrier. “You are trespassing,” he snarled, “and the punishment for such behavior is severe. I don’t know how you managed to make your way onto this property, but—”

“It’s funny, but you actually seem angrier at _me_ than _this_ fellow. Very unusual, for a civilian. I like that. Too bad you won’t remember a thing about it in a few minutes.” He pulled what looked like a brass cigarette case out of his suit coat, opened it, and spoke into it without preamble. “This is Agent Green. I’m going to need a containment team at Sector 882-29-H, and bring a plasma cage, size eight.” He eyed the immobilized mound again. “Better make it a nine.” He signed off and stepped before Lucius, whose wand was steadily trained on the Muggle. Lucius sneered. 

“Place your hands where I can see them and explain yourself at once,” he ordered.

“Or you’ll poke me with a stick? Dearie me.” Agent Green raised nothing but his eyebrows. “You’re looking for answers, boy-o, and you know what? I don’t blame you one bit.” From his breast pocket, he pulled a metal wand of some sort. It was silver and tipped with a tiny red light. Briskly, the Muggle flicked open a pair of dark glasses and put them on. “The answer to all your questions may be found … right … here.”

But the sneering memory-Lucius, who had evidently interpreted the other man’s actions as threatening, slashed upward with his wand and cried “ _Expelliarmus_!” Agent Green’s wand jerked out of his hand and spun end over end until Lucius caught it deftly. Both men stood staring. Agent Green was the first to recover. 

“So _that’s_ how it is! What are you doing in an unauthorized sector, boy-o? Don’t go anywhere. I’ll need to see your license and registration.” He spoke into his metal box again. “Headquarters, we have an unregistered alien in Sector 882. Send a containment unit and—”

“If you are referring to _me_ , I can assure you, I am neither unregistered, nor am I an alien,” Lucius informed him. “I am a pureblood.”

“’Course you are.” Agent Green studied Lucius from head to toe, taking in his frock coat, embroidered waistcoat, buttoned trousers and boots. “Nice outfit there, Mr. Dickens,” he remarked with a smirk. “Next time, study the century you’re slated to visit _before_ you land. Where do you hail from, Pureblood? Sirius? You sure look like Sirius.” 

Severus winced in sympathy for the clueless Muggle. It was the final insult. Lucius’ Stunner knocked the agent backwards and he crashed into a tree and fell to the ground, just as the crew from Headquarters arrived. They were armed with peculiar guns that shot green rays instead of bullets. Before memory-Lucius could Apparate, he was overwhelmed and fell unconscious on the forest floor before the surroundings turned opaquely black.

“That’s the end,” said the real Lucius beside Severus, and they ascended out of the pensieve together. 

Back in his library chair, Severus shook his head, amazed in spite of himself. “What happened afterward?” he asked. He accepted the glass Lucius handed him, but did not drink. 

“The next morning, I found myself lying on a sofa here at home. They had retrieved that silver wand I took from the Muggle agent. In my pocket was a card.” Lucius reached in his jacket pocket and pulled out a plain white business card. “I am to visit this address at noon tomorrow.” He tapped the card with his wand and an identical card joined the first, which he handed to Severus. “And I want you to come with me.”

Severus frowned at the card. “What the hell is MIB?”

“I have no earthly idea.” 

“Well then, what do you believe you’ll find there?”

“Opportunity!” replied Lucius earnestly.

“You’re joking.” Apart from the intimidatingly large creature from the pensieve, the thought of Lucius Malfoy venturing into London on a Muggle’s errand was the most surprising idea of the whole day. 

“Severus, weren’t you listening to me at all? I’m so fucking sick of this house, this life. What’s the use of preserving blood status when your own blood can no longer bear to live in the same country as you? I’m sick of looking into the faces of my former colleagues and seeing nothing but my old choices reflected back at me. I want to be a new man, with a new challenge, and this might be it.” He clapped a hand on Severus’ shoulder as if to say, _I know you feel the same._

And Merlin help him, he did.

Still full of misgivings, Severus tucked the card in his pocket.


	2. Chapter Two

The address on the business card turned out to be a black skyscraper wrapped with thick silver coils, situated in the financial district of Muggle London. They called it the Lloyds Building. Severus stood across the street like a stone in the surging river of pedestrian traffic. He gazed upwards, wondering why he had agreed to come.

Inside, the lobby was teeming with business people too busy to notice him. He slowly made his way to the guard desk. He was glad to see Lucius standing near, feet apart, hands behind his back as he waited. Lucius had dressed in frilly Dickensian splendor again, as if to make a point of some sort. He had even tied his long white-blond hair back with a dainty black ribbon. Severus himself had opted for nondescript, dark clothing from this century, but he still felt incautious and exposed.

The front desk guard finally raised his head and acknowledged their proffered cards. “Through there,” he said, pointing with his chin at a nondescript door off to the side. 

They found themselves in a dimly-lit stairwell. Their booted feet clanged with every step as they descended ten or twelve stories. At the bottom was a red door, attended by a man in a suit and sunglasses, diffidently perusing yesterday’s _Guardian_. They waited for him to move or speak, but he did neither. Severus cautiously moved past and opened the door so they could both step through and into—a classroom with colorless walls and harsh fluorescent lighting. At least a dozen Muggles were already sitting at desks, waiting. Before he could turn and go back the way he came in, a voice called. 

“Gentlemen, you’re late. The examination is about to begin. Please take a seat.”

They were shown to their seats by the Muggle they recognized as Agent Green, the man Lucius had Stunned in the woods. He showed them no malice; indeed, he appeared highly amused by the pair of them. “Well, if it isn’t Mr. Dickens! See you’ve brought a friend,” he said. “Take a seat anywhere. The first test will be a written exam.”

“The first test for what?” asked Severus. 

“Complete as much as you can.” He produced examination booklets and two ballpoint pens apiece. “Your time begins now.”

“And how much time?” Agent Green ignored him again.

Severus used a finger to pop the paper seal on the exam. He leafed through the densely-written pages in dismay. “This will take all day,” he whispered.  
“We _have_ all day,” Lucius replied philosophically. 

Severus shook his head. “Look at this. Maths, calculus—astrophysics, I think. I know nothing about astrophysics and I’m sure you don’t, either. We should leave.”

Lucius picked up a pen, turning it this way and that. “Will you look at this? A perpetually inked quill. Why, I never.” He carefully tucked it into his breast pocket before uncapping the second and falling to work. When Severus looked over several minutes later, he saw Lucius doing nothing more than drawing Snitches in the margins.

“What in Merlin’s name has gotten into you?” hissed Severus.

“No cheatsies,” admonished Lucius, shifting his test away. 

Two hours later, Severus’ eyes were tired and his writing hand was sore. Besides intermediate physics, the exam had covered Muggle history, geography and current events. Severus had had to skip entire sections, and Lucius, as far as he knew, had done no work at all. But the other man’s playful good mood was undimmed by their bad showing. 

The second test was no better. After a short break, the candidates were set up in cubicles, where they sat in front illuminated screens that responded to touch. Maps would display on the screen; candidates were meant to demonstrate their knowledge of streets, roadways and rail lines throughout the British Isles.  
Severus did better on this exam, having lived in Manchester off and on throughout his life, and having traveled his fair share in Muggle cars. But he worried for Lucius, who was the sort who Apparated or used the Floo Network everywhere he went. Lucius would have no reason to know the salient points of road travel. He had probably done as badly at this exam as the last. 

But when they met again outside the classroom, he found Lucius still as cheerful as before. “That was my first computer,” he remarked. Other candidates snorted and shook their heads.

Another short break was called, and the hopefuls queued for what turned out to be weak tea in Styrofoam cups. “We should leave before the third exam,” said Severus, eyeing his beverage with distaste. 

“We’re not going anywhere,” replied Lucius firmly. 

Agent Green reappeared. “Gentlemen, now we come to a weapons test.”

The candidates were ushered a large room illuminated only by a few electric lights mounted on the walls. They observed wooden cut-out buildings, with figures resembling people and animals arrayed throughout the room. There was a white table at hand, upon which were stacked intimidating guns, one for each candidate. Severus had the impression of a dueling range such as was used in one’s practicum in Defense Against the Dark Arts, only the wooden figures did not move. He grew a little edgy as he wondered whom he was meant to shoot.

Lucius seemed to sense Severus’ hesitation, and a quiet growl, pulled him out of the room and into the bright hallway. He looked Severus straight in the eye. “You still don’t understand, old man. We have no place else to be. There are no Ministry appointments, no meetings, no fancy dress balls. So we have nothing to lose by staying to see what to make of this place.

“Severus, this has all been a ruse, this whole day, I feel certain of it,” continued Lucius in a low voice. “Remember the man in the pensieve. Remember his job. This organization deals with _monsters_. They are not looking for physics scholars or bus drivers.” He met Severus’ gaze with steely grey eyes. Gone was the whimsical fop. In his place was Lucius Malfoy, Death Eater. Severus had not seen this side of Lucius in years, and he felt a frisson of dark excitement as Lucius’ words rang true. Severus Snape had lost his purpose; perhaps this organization was where he would find it again. 

“They are looking for men of action,” said Severus.

Lucius drew his wand. “Do you know anyone like that?”

Severus smirked before drawing his own wand. “Let’s show them what we’re made of,” he said, and led the way into the dark.

* * *

The head of MIB, known only as Quarr, was elderly and stoop-shouldered, with iron-grey hair. Still, there was a presence about him that one did not underestimate.

It was Quarr himself who sat down with MIB’s two brightest new recruits. “Gentlemen,” he said, “MIB stands for _Men in Black_. Someone came up with the nickname in the fifties, and it stuck. We are an agency that monitors and polices alien activity in the United Kingdom. Here in the subfloors of the new Lloyds Building, we serve as an interdimensional hub of sorts for arriving and departing aliens. Did you ever see the movie ‘Love, Actually’?”

“No.”

“Oh, you should. It’s brilliant. Something for everyone.” He looked at Lucius. “Mr. Malfoy, Agent Green thought you were an alien at first, an unregistered one. When he learned you were human, he was supposed to neurolyze you—that is, use an apparatus that would cause you to forget the whole visit. It’s standard protocol. But I had them hold off because I wanted to see if you had what it takes to join our organization. You too, Mr. Snape. We’re happy to make your acquaintance as well.

“If you agree to join MIB, you’ll each conform to our rules.” Quarr shrugged. “Such as they are. They’re not as strict as other branches—particularly New York—but there we are. You’ll keep your identity a closely-guarded secret. You’ll live here at Headquarters … unless you really don’t want to: the flats _are_ on the smallish side. But we do insist you dress in attire specially sanctioned by MIB UK.” 

They left the administrative wing and headed down a wide hallway, the far end of which looked bright and busy. Quarr gestured broadly, warming to his subject. “You see, an agent’s entire image is crafted to leave no lasting memory with anyone you encounter. You’re a rumor, recognizable only as déjà vu and dismissed just as quickly. Anonymity is your key word, silence your native tongue! You are no longer a part of the system; you will be above the system! You are the Men in Black! Do you understand?”

At last, they reached the airport concourse, where they stood for a time and watched all manner of alien creatures walk, crawl and slither in and out of space terminals. Overhead, a public address system blared in a language they could not fathom. New arrivals were busily checking luggage through Customs, shopping the duty-free market and sipping coffee outside a Starbucks. 

They shared a look and a nod. “We understand,” Severus told Quarr. “Trust us, we’ve lived above the system most of our lives.” 

“And we’ve dealt with far stranger things than this,” added Lucius sardonically.

Later that day, they stood in front of a mirror in the agents’ lounge, taking in their new suits.

“Not bad,” said Lucius at last, a modicum of surprise coloring his voice.

“At least it’s black,” replied Severus.

* * *

Montgomery Aiken was a short, stout fellow in greasy coveralls. He owned a garage in Croydon that did legitimate car service by day, and became a chop shop by night. Carjackers would bring vehicles to Monty and he would file the serial numbers off, or simply strip the cars down for parts. Business was good and something new happened every night. Monty was a not a happy man, he thought as he worked, but at least he was contented—

His thoughts scattered when there came an unholy screeching sound of metal on metal, unusual even for his bustling business. He leapt out of his office chair and ran into the warehouse. His mechanics had stopped what they were doing and were staring at the second bay door, where a bright-white line of melted metal lengthened and twisted until it became door-shaped. With a loud bang, the door-shaped piece burst into the room as if by magic. 

Two men dressed in black suits stepped inside and looked around. Monty was already at the side door, elbowing past his employees to try to get through the scrum.

“Stop where you are,” called one of the men crisply. “This shop is surrounded by agents, and you have nowhere to run.” He watched as the first of the mechanics finally popped out of the doorway. “Why do they always run?” he drawled.

His companion shrugged. “Would you believe you?”

“I _always_ believe me,” replied the first man. “It’s the rest of the world that continually disappoints me with its censure.” He leveled his gun at Monty. “Mr. Montgomery? A word, please?”

Monty looked back at the gun again and thought it best to play innocent until he knew just how much trouble he was in. He turned back and raised his hands.

“How d’you do, guv’nor?” he said solicitously.

“I am Detective Inspector Black, and this is Detective Inspector White.”

Monty covered a quick snuffle of laughter. D.I. Black had white-blond hair tied back in a queue, while White’s long, unbound hair was black.

D.I. White took him roughly by the shoulder and steered him to the back of the shop. “Let’s talk,” he growled. “Last night, you received a vintage car, an automobile called a Metropolitan. Red, 1957, quite scored and pitted. You told the young hood that brought it to you that you don’t normally take this model, but he said something unusual, didn’t he?” White shook Monty’s shoulder when Monty did not reply immediately. “Didn’t he, Mr. Montgomery?”

“How-how did you know—“ 

White pressed on. “He told you the vehicle came from _outer space_ , didn’t he?”

Monty struggled to hide his surprise. “That’s right, guv—Detective Inspector,” he replied at last. “I still got it—it’s right over there. I don’t know from outer space, but there’s something unusual about its insides, that’s for sure.”

At White’s command, Monty led them to the other end of the shop. The car in question was up on blocks. The engine, unlike any motor that ever came standard in a Metropolitan, had been disengaged and was hanging above the car by a chain, and the tires leaned against the wall. 

Detective Inspector Black nodded. “Yes, I recognize it from the hologram. A planet-hopper, I believe they called it. Apparently some local hooligan stole it out of Larchmont’s valet parking.”

“Larchmont seems keen to focus our attention on hooligans. The only thing _he_ should be concerned with is his violation of at least twelve interstellar regulations.” White kicked a tire savagely. “And it’s still rubbish. If he were going to use a Muggle vehicle, why not an MGB? Or a Rolls? What a waste of metal.”  
Black laughed. “I once heard a rumor Arthur Weasley modified a car like this and actually made it fly.”

“It’s no rumor,” replied White wryly. “It was a Ford Anglia. Saw it myself.”

“Oh, you’re joking. Did it really fly?”

“Hmmph. Just barely.”

Mechanics began filing back into the warehouse, their hands on top of their heads, led by more black-clad police inspectors holding unusually large, silver guns. Monty began to sweat then as he planned what he would say in court. He wondered who was left in the operation he could inform upon in order to reduce his sentence.

D.I. Black addressed his team. “Alright, gentlemen, please begin boxing the parts you’ll find on the west end of the shop. But first, bring our new friends to the center of the shop, right here, for reorientation.” 

White finally released his iron-vise grip on Monty’s shoulder and pushed him into the center of the room with the others. “Well, we have come to the end of a long day,” said D.I. White with a sneer. “But before we go our separate ways, I have just one thing left to show you.” He reached into his breast pocket and drew out an object—a long, silver pen of sorts, with a tiny red light atop. Monty’s head was awhirl. As all the inspectors donned sunglasses, he finally got up the nerve to ask one question. 

“The-the car,” he stammered. “Does it belong to a VIP, then?”

D.I. Black smiled. “More like a VIA,” he replied with a solicitous air. 

Then the room went red.

* * *

Severus took off his dark glasses and gazed around the warehouse at the collection of slack faces and wide-open eyes. “Damn. What a gullible breed.”  
“I thought you didn’t like neurolyzers,” Lucius remarked as he pocketed his own glasses.

“I never said that,” replied Severus. “I’ll admit, at first I thought, what’s the point of carrying another useless bob like this? It just cluttered my pockets.”  
“And it simply ruins the line of one’s jacket,” added Lucius. 

“What, even with Extension charms?”

“Mm.”

“Hadn’t noticed.”

“What made you change your mind, then?”

“Well, you see how much more efficient it is,” replied Severus conversationally. “One is able to Obliviate whole parties at once, rather than one at a time, which has always been an unfortunate limit of the wand.”

Lucius nodded. “You have a point. Also, it wasn’t created by Muggles, so it has that going for it.”

“Merlin, you’re still such a snob.” Severus remarked. “You been _working_ with Muggles for months now. And we all come from the same planet. When you think of our lives from a cosmic perspective, aren’t we all just … people?”

“Ever the egalitarian,” replied Lucius with a stifled yawn. Monty shuffled by at that moment, nearly bumping into Severus. They both looked up and noticed the neurolyzed mechanics had begun wandering brainlessly, caroming off dismantled cars and jostling each other. “You forgot the rest of it again,” said Lucius.

“So I did.” They donned their shades again. “What’s it to be this time—unfortunate power surge? Sudden mass religious fervor?”

“Decisions,” sighed Lucius. “But as much as I’d like to see you pull off the latter, let’s stick with tried and true.”

“Alright, then. Your attention, please,” called Severus. Once more, the red flash-pop of the neurolyzer dazzled the eyes of the listless mechanics. “There was an unfortunate power surge in the area. You all received a terrible electrical shocks. You will visit the medical team outside that door and have yourselves checked. Then you will go home. You will forget what you saw here tonight, and you will resume your happy, larcenous lives. Oh, and Mr. Montgomery?” He clapped Monty on the man’s sore shoulder. “There is no such thing as a flying car that can travel through outer space. That will be all.”

Monty and the rest of the crew began to make their way out the door and down the block. “Is that all?” asked Lucius. “Why didn’t you turn them into law-abiding citizens while you were at it?”

Severus shrugged. “I try not to judge.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter, we'll finally get down to business. Comments are welcome!


	3. Chapter Three

“Gentlemen,” said Quarr, “we have a situation.”

It was eleven o’clock in the morning, the day after the raid and the subsequent recovery of the stolen planet-hopper from a seedy chop shop in Croydon. Having finished his own paperwork and most of Lucius’, Severus Snape was keen to visit the agents’ lounge for a shower and a drink, not necessarily in that order. But it looked like there was more work ahead.

“I have something to show you. Walk with me,” commanded Quarr. 

“Won’t that be difficult for you?” asked Lucius delicately. This was because the head of MIB UK was floating upside-down. Quarr’s feet and calves were encased in a compact hovercoptor that propelled him around the agency, his wispy grey hair nearly brushing the floor.

“My back is acting up again,” groused Quarr as they set off across the concourse. “Never been the same since the Flinker Incident of ’87. Here we are.” They had reached the information kiosk, where a thin, blue alien sat a desk of sorts, tapping the keys of a large console.

An image flared to life on the screen. It was an alien, brown with a green stripe down its back, and large eyes in a small, angular face.

“This is a werty,” said Quarr. “Quadruped, brownish tubules resembling fur, prehensile tail. Cute little thing. It belongs to the leader of the Votolians. Seems he accidentally left it here in the UK four or five months ago while he was on vacation in the Lake District. He’s quite fond of it and he’s decided he wants it back. We need you to find this werty, bag it, and bring it in.”

“Pet retrieval is a job for the Lost and Found Department,” Lucius replied with a frown, crossing his arms. “Why do you think you require agents to take this on?”

“Because it’s a time-sensitive matter,” replied Quarr. He was undaunted by the Malfoy glare despite his inverted posture. “We need this taken care of quickly—and discreetly. Votolius is basically a cult leader. He’s making a big stink about getting his pet back, and you know how he is. Next thing you know, we’ll have whole swarms of his devoted followers pouring all over the countryside, scaring the locals, hoping to score points with their leader.”

“Still—“ 

“Lucius and I will see to it,” Severus interrupted. “As it happens, we already have a lead on this … werty.”

Lucius raised an elegant brow in query. Quarr stared up from the vicinity of Severus’ kneecaps. Both men looked as though they wanted to ask questions, but pride stood in the way. “Excellent,” said Quarr at length. “Be sure and take care of any loose ends. It’s been out there quite a while—perhaps someone has been feeding it. I’ll expect a full report in a day or two.”

“Very good.”

They Apparated back to Malfoy Manor, where they were finally able to freshen up after their night in Croydon. They donned casual clothes and, after a light lunch, they settled down in the library. “Much better,” said Lucius with a sigh, extending his feet toward the fire. 

“I agree," replied Severus. "Once one gets used to the standard galactic 37-hour day, one has so much more time for the simple things.”

“So.” Lucius sipped his drink. “I’m certain you had a good reason to volunteer us to be dog-catchers—or werty-catchers.” 

“Here, look at this.” Severus brought out a pamphlet from his pocket, the one he had been carrying since the day he renewed his acquaintance with Hermione Granger. “It seems wizarding folk in the Lake District have spotted a strange new magical creature over the last few months,” he said. “People get near enough to feed it, but not to catch it. They’ve been reporting their sightings to the Ministry, and the Department for the Restriction and Control of Magical Creatures has been sending field agents out to try and round it up.” 

“Hmm.” Lucius turned the rumpled pamphlet in his fingers. “Well then, we really do have a lead,” he said at last. “How marvelous. Perhaps the Ministry has found the little blighter by now. We ought to pay the RCMC a visit this afternoon. But just so I may be prepared—“ Lucius fixed Severus with a deceptively mild gaze— “what do you think we will we find when we get there?” 

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I mean, an alien’s pet goes missing, and it just so happens you have been carrying the very information we need, right in your pocket next to your beloved neurolyzer. I’d venture to say it is beyond coincidence. And so I want to know, when we get to the Ministry, will we, perhaps, run into anyone … in particular?” 

Severus lifted his glass to his lips, found he had drained it while Lucius was speaking, and stood to refill it at the bar. “Oh, just the usual array of gormless civil servants, I would imagine,” he replied blandly.

He had had no intention of seeing Hermione Granger again socially; he had finally moved up the social ladder alright, but the nature of his job made it quite impossible to date outside the organization. Still, he had kept her little drawing, and was looking forward to seeing her at the Ministry again for reasons he had not fully explored. He was annoyed that Lucius believed he had picked up on something.

* * *

Penelope Clearwater, head of the RCMC, stared blankly at a large sheaf of bound parchment that had just been placed on her desk with a loud thunk. She looked up at her deputy director. 

“What is this?”

“My report on house-elves,” said Hermione Granger. “What’s wrong? I told you to expect it. Didn’t you believe me?”

“No, to tell you the truth, I didn’t believe you would actually go to all the trouble. For Merlin’s sake, Hermione.” Penelope stood up and placed her hands on her desk.

“Everyone knows house-elves do not want to be freed.”

“We can’t know that.”

“It’s just understood.”

“No one’s ever asked them, Penelope.”

“They have voices. They can speak up if they’re unhappy!” 

“No, they can’t. Not really!” Hermione’s voice began to grow shrill. “They’re so heavily restricted, they must punish themselves whenever they disobey their masters. How do we know what house-elves really want?”

“They live to serve!”

“Dobby—“

“—was a mental case!”

Penelope winced at the look of shock on Hermione's face. She had gone too far. She softened her tone and began again. “I’m really sorry, Hermione. Look, I know he was your friend, and I know he rescued you from Malfoy Manor that time. I’ll grant you he was special, but he was just an outlier. He was the only house-elf on record who ever expressed an interest in being free. What does that tell you?”

Hermione smiled mirthlessly and slapped a second sheaf on Penelope’s desk. “It tells me we ought to move forward with my survey of the house-elves.”

“Your _survey_? You wrote a—?” Penelope pressed her lips together to keep from saying something unprofessional. She had never believed Hermione Granger was a good fit at the RCMC. In fact, Penelope was convinced the Ministry had only given Hermione a job for the sake of good will. If only they had found the means to hire that Lovegood woman instead. Penelope blamed the Ministry’s headhunter for not offering enough of a salary to tempt Luna to cancel her plans to move to the Amazon rainforest and search for something called a skorkack. 

Penelope cast about for some way distract her deputy. A thick case file caught her eye and raised her hopes. “Listen, Hermione,” she began, “I really think you ought to get out of this stuffy office. I’d like you to check out the latest sighting of our little friend here. He was spotted out at Grasmere again just this morning.” Penelope waved her wand at a large map of the Lake District on her wall. Several little red flags popped up and waved all over the paper. “You can see by the sightings he’s on the move again. No one seems to be able to catch him.”

“Fitch is already in Grasmere.” Hermione objected.

“Yes, he’s on the west side, but he’s not having any luck. You know the charms much better than he does. I want you to cover the other side of the lake. The fresh air will do you good.” Penelope decided to sweeten the deal. “And while you’re gone, I’ll read your report _and_ your survey. I promise.”

Hermione left shortly afterwards, grumbling mightily, dressed for hiking, her satchel filled with field equipment. Penelope, being a fair-minded boss, truly meant to keep her end of the bargain. But half an hour later, she was interviewed instead by two sharp-faced wizards wearing identical black suits. The dark-haired one stared intently into her eyes, and she found herself fully answering every question they posed about the mysterious new magical creature that was occupying the time of her local field agents. She even set the little flags on her map to waving again, and pointed out where her deputy would soon be searching at Lake Grasmere.

Penelope felt she ought to recognize the men behind their stylish sunglasses. But before she could think to ask their names, she abruptly changed her mind, stood up, left the Ministry and Apparated to Diagon Alley to enjoy a delicious ice cream sundae at Fortescue’s.

* * *

Justin Fletch-Fitchley’s Patronus was a titmouse. Hermione was not the least bit surprised. 

He had answered her otter Patronus by confirming he was staked out in territory on the west side of the lake. So Hermione began her search along the east side. After a careful reconnaissance of her surroundings, she selected an overgrown yard behind a derelict three-story house that would provide a good vantage point. She settled in behind some low shrubbery and opened her satchel, fishing out her specialized field equipment: a dish, which she filled with all manner of tasty snack foods. With her wand, she cleared a large circle in the overgrown lawn and set the dish on the dirt. 

Then Hermione began casting the special charms that would—usually—lure a magical creature to the vicinity. RCMC agents had been attempting the charm-and-lure method all over the district, but with no luck. Perhaps it was because they were never close enough to their quarry. Between magic and the dish of particularly delectable pet treats, she hoped her luck would change today. 

She Apparated away with a crack, but only sent herself as far as the roof of the old house, where she laid down flat and just peeked over the ridge. She could see the dish from her vantage point, so she gripped her wand in one hand and settled in to wait.

It did not take long for magical beings to turn up, but not the one she was expecting. From her rooftop vantage point, she spied none other than Severus Snape step out of a copse of trees and into the overgrown yard. 

Though it had been several months since their accidental meeting at the Ministry, she had not forgotten how pleasant it had been to sit and chat with him over lunch. She opened her mouth to call a friendly greeting, but then Lucius Malfoy joined him, and her blood ran cold. Malfoy: the very last person she ever wanted to see again. He had been her gracious host at his manor the night she was tortured by Bellatrix Lestrange in the final days of the war. She could not forget the way he had looked down on her that night, like she was a fly to be swatted. The fact he still walked around free had always made her indignant. What was he doing here in Grasmere? For that matter, what were they _both_ doing here? Her mind refused to entertain the notion they were standing in her little territory by coincidence. 

She watched Malfoy wave his wand to cast a _Muffliato_ before speaking to Severus. Their hands gesticulated wildly as they argued for a moment. Then Lucius pulled out what looked like a large brass cigarette case. He opened it, held it to the side of his face and began talking. Hermione could hardly take in what she was seeing. What had Snape and Malfoy become, that they willingly used mobiles? 

When the two men cancelled the Silencing charm and moved away, out of her line of sight, Hermione found she could not resist trying to learn more. She hoisted a leg over the top of the roof and inched along, keeping them in sight. But her downward foot slipped and she began a slow but inexorable slide down the back side of the roof. She laid herself out flat and dragged her toes. Her non-wand hand clawed the pebbled surface. 

“ _Aresto Momentum_! _Ascendio_!” she choked. “ARESTO MOMENTUM!” She managed to slow her inexorable slide but not stop entirely. Her lower half slowly canted off the roof, but between a continuous stream of _Arestos_ and _Ascendios_ , she kept gravity from winning out and wound up hanging from a rain gutter by both hands. Her wand tumbled uselessly to the ground. 

“Shit,” she hissed. It was impossible to Apparate without being able to turn on the spot—and without a wand. She looked around to call for it, but then she shut her mouth with a snap. 

Hanging under the eaves, not five feet from her dangling body, was the little beast that had been tying her whole department in knots.  
The creature was a quadruped with short brown fur and a green stripe down its back that ran down to a long, flirty curlique of a tail. It had two short little ears, and its enormous eyes were warm and brown. It swung with careless ease by one clever little hand, while holding the food dish in the other three. Hermione could only watch as it snarfled all the treats, tossed away the dish and then hung there, gazing at her with friendly regard. In spite of her predicament, Hermione stared right back, enchanted. It was the prettiest little thing she had ever seen.

“Hello,” she whispered. “What are you?”

The creature chirped in greeting. 

“Oh, how darling,” she breathed. The little creature stretched out a paw, and she unconsciously extending her near hand in fellowship. Their fingers nearly touched ... 

Then out of nowhere, a big green arm like a tree trunk extended between them. It plucked the little creature right out from under the roof. Hermione gasped and gripped the rain gutter, twisting her head awkwardly. She met two beady little yellow eyes in a large green, scaly face on top of a large green, scaly body. It was impossibly tall, with four large arms and a few smaller ones. Though she was at least twenty feet in the air, the scaly monster stood at her height and stared at her with a curious tilt of its massive head. 

“Pwqa?” it rumbled.

Hermione screamed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I said this would be four chapters, but it may wind up being five! I promise I will reply to comments soon. They are very appreciated!


	4. Chapter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here ya go.

Severus heard the scream and tore off in the direction of the sound, Lucius at his heels. Rounding the corner of the derelict house, they saw Hermione Granger high above, holding onto the roof, kicking wildly at—

“Nigel?” shouted Severus. “Nigel, what are you doing here?”

The alien turned to Severus with mild puzzlement. “Oh, hello, Agent White.” His voice came out as a slow, gruff rumble. “Is there a problem? I didn't touch your Earthling,” he added with a defensive air.

Severus pulled out his gun. “Step away from the woman.” 

“I swear, she was like that when I got here.”

“Nigel,” called Lucius, who had joined them, “step away from there, please, hand over the werty and put all your hands and flippers in the air.”

Nigel finally lumbered a few steps away from Hermione, but did not relinquish the little creature. “Sorry, Agent Black,” he growled apologetically. “I’m under orders. The werty comes with me.” 

“Don’t make me shoot you, Nigel.”

“I’m under orders!”

Lucius drew his weapon—a silver, lethal-looking affair—just as Nigel pulled out a gun the size of tree trunk and squeezed off a round. Severus and Lucius dived, narrowly avoiding a blast that took out a good chunk of the house’s dining room. Hermione screamed again. Lucius and Severus jumped to their feet, silver guns in one hand and now with wands in the other. They threw volleys of Stunners, punctuated by red laser blasts, which set Nigel to howling and stepping lively. But most of the agents’ shots were aimed over the alien’s head because he was still holding the slightly squashed-looking werty to his chest with four of his secondary flipper-arms. 

Nigel lifted the big gun again, aimed over the agents’ heads and noisily reduced a pine tree to splinters before he turned and ran. His short, squashy legs were shockingly nimble, enabling him to leap over fences and shrubbery. Severus and Lucius alternately ran and Apparated in pursuit, but within seconds the gigantic alien was out of sight.

Severus immediately circled back to the house. He saw Hermione was no longer dangling from the roof and guilt assailed him. He should have seen to her first. “Hermione?” he called. Amidst the overgrown shrubs at the base of the house, he heard a groan. He made his way over to her and began to pull branches off her head. “Hermione, are you alright? Are you hurt?”

She slowly raised herself to a sitting position. “I’m fine,” she said with an effort. “I called my wand back and then I was able to levitate myself just enough to lower to the ground, if that makes sense.” 

She seemed quite dazed as she sat with her back against the wall. Severus did not think she was ready to stand yet, so he sat down beside her to wait. He tried to bolster her spirits. “You did well,” he said. “Most people can’t levitate themselves at all.”

“I know,” she replied. “ _Aresto Momentum_ has limited success when the caster uses it on herself.”

He smiled at her textbook response. “Perhaps you should simply learn to fly.”

“Oh, yes,” she replied weakly. “For the next time I’m hanging on a roof, terrorized by aliens.”

“It’s the only practical solution.”

Hermione leaned her head against his shoulder, sighed and took his hand. “That _was_ an alien, wasn’t it, Severus?” she asked.

He was as surprised by her question as by her touch. It was a novel situation for him, calling for a novel response: the truth. “Yes, it was,” he admitted “A Torlock. There aren’t many registered Torlocks on Earth these days. After an incident in Arizona involving a Muggle immigration officer who was nearly killed, Torlocks are on MIB’s restricted list.”

“It’s no wonder.” 

A polite _ahem_ signaled Lucius had returned. Severus helped Hermione to her feet as the other man reported. 

“Nigel’s gone. I contacted Headquarters to alert them the werty has been stolen. They’re going to try to figure out where he might have taken it. You and I ought to stop in for more fire power, considering some idiot gave an unauthorized firearm to a Torlock.” Lucius turned to Hermione and inclined his head politely. “Good afternoon, Miss Granger. Your supervisor said we would find you here at Grasmere. Apparently, we aren’t the only ones searching for the creature. How fortunate that you weren’t injured in today’s … incident.” He pulled out his sunglasses. “You look a bit peaky, but don’t worry. We have something lovely to show you that will make you feel so much better. Tell me, do you like Fortescue’s ice cream?”

“Wait, Lucius.” Severus thought fast. “I agree she will _eventually_ have to be neurolyzed, but—“

“Neurolyzed?” asked Hermione with a suspicious frown.

“—but for now, she’s too important to the case. We need her valuable expertise in … in fantastic beasts and, erm, where to find them.” He frowned and nodded as though the issue were settled. “We’ll take her with us. For now. If she will—if you will consent to come along.” He looked at Hermione uncertainly.

“Severus,” Lucius chided, “this is highly irregular.” 

“Of course I’m coming along,” replied Hermione. She poked Lucius in the chest. “No one will be _neurolyzing_ anybody today, Mr. Malfoy. I have about a thousand questions for you both. First of all, what the hell is MIB?”

* * *

Hermione and Severus landed with a pop at the Apparition point. Lucius followed a second later, and the three of them quietly slid through a plain-looking side door in the Lloyds Building. When they reached the concourse level of MIB Headquarters, Hermione’s surprise was so great, she could only stand rooted to the spot with her mouth hanging open. Severus returned to her side and gently took her elbow, and she docilely allowed herself to be guided while she stared about her, taking in everything. 

“Aliens. Real aliens in London,” she marveled. “Where did all these aliens come from? I didn’t see any spacecraft outside.” 

“Each terminal you see is an intra-system portal,” explained Severus as they walked. “Think of it as Apparition on a much larger scale. Most ships are parked behind Neptune, though some smaller craft do land on Earth.”

They made their way through to the MIB administrative offices. Quarr, on his feet again, looked beyond peeved when he caught sight of them. “Would it have killed you to call for backup?” he groused. “Who is this? What’s she doing here?” 

Lucius answered smoothly. “This is the lead we mentioned earlier. She’s a civilian, but she’s an expert in xenobiology. She agreed to help us.”

“Well, fine. We’ll need help,” replied Quarr. “You said when Nigel attacked you, he told you he was under orders.”

“That’s correct. The question is, whose orders,” mused Lucius. 

“We think we have a lead. Nigel’s labor contract was recently purchased by an alien named Obojjni. He’s in the import-export business. Has a warehouse disguised as a farm somewhere near Little Burstead. I want you to go there and find out whether Obojjni is the one who ordered the abduction of the werty by force. He’s in violation of too many regulations to count, if he did. Wait’ll you see him,” added Quarr. 

Severus narrowed his eyes. “Why? What does he look like?” he asked. 

Quarr smirked. “Let’s just say, he doesn’t get out much.” 

Coordinates were transferred into an ordinary-looking car key, which Quarr handed to Severus. “The car will automatically drive you directly to Obojjni’s farm. And for God’s sake, take backup with you this time, I mean it.”

* * *

Down in the parking garage, Severus eased behind the wheel of a gleaming black Bentley. Hermione clamored into the back while Lucius slid in the passenger side. “Are we taking along backup?” he asked.

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Right.”

Hermione laughed. “Look at you two, with your black suits and your Ray-Bans and your posh motorcar adventures. Which of you is Jake and which is Elwood?”

They ignored the jibe while Severus pulled out his wand and tapped the steering wheel. He Disillusioned the exterior thoroughly before he backed carefully out of the parking space. Twelve seconds later, they were nearing 160 miles per hour on the meridian, and Hermione was no longer laughing. Instead, she gripped her seat in terror as she stared out into the dark. 

Lucius’ voice rose above the noise of the engine and the sound of traffic. “Miss Granger,” he said, rummaging in the glove box, “if you’re going to be of use, you’ll need to understand Galactic. Unfortunately, we don’t have the four weeks necessary for immersion in the language tank, so I’m afraid we’ll have to resort to cruder methods. Ah, here we are.” He brought out a small vial. “Come closer. Let me show you something.” Hermione leaned forward curiously. Lucius twisted in his seat, grabbed her at the back of the head and shoved something in her ear. 

She screeched bloody murder, but Lucius clapped his hand over her ear and held her in a firm grip. Severus tried to watch in the mirror without taking his eyes off the road. “Hermione, it’s alright, hold still,” he called. 

“It’s _wet_!”

“Leave it, Miss Granger,” Lucius said. “It’s called a Babel Fish. It will translate all speech you hear so you will understand what aliens are saying.” It took a moment for it all to sink in. Hermione stopped squirming, which let Lucius trust her enough to let her go. She leaned back, eyes wide, touching her ear gingerly. 

“Did you say a Babel Fish? A real one? Like in _Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy_?”

The two men shared a look. “Yes,” said Severus dryly, “that was his idea of a little joke. You see, he likes to set up on primitive planets every once in a while and spin unbelievable yarns for money, writing about things that are actually true.” He frowned. “A bit juvenile, really.”

Hermione stared. “Severus … you do know Douglas Adams is dead.”

Lucius gave her a withering look. “No, Miss Granger, Douglas Adams is not dead,” he replied, turning to face front again. “He merely went home.”

Twenty minutes later, the Disillusioned car jumped off the motorway and flew into a field. They bumped and jostled their way across. 

“A flying Ford Anglia, did you say?” ventured Lucius. 

“Forget it,” replied Severus firmly. “More trouble than it was worth.”

Outside a farmhouse, they came to a screeching halt near a copse of trees. They peered out the windows. Their surroundings were barely visible in the gloom of night. Their car had stopped approximately twenty feet from a large, red barn. A gravel lane led between two cornfields and a decorative row of birch trees to a traditional two-story farmhouse with a wide front porch. Every window was lit up, throwing golden light onto the surrounding yard. 

“Is that where Aubergenie lives?” whispered Hermione.

“Obojjni, and apparently, yes,” replied Severus. “Now, I want you to—“

A volley of red laser fire burst upon them from the direction of the corn field, thunking against the doors and windows. Hermione threw her arms over her head while Severus and Lucius calmly readied their firearms and wands. The car was heavily fortified against most sorts of weapon fire—not that they encountered weapon fire regularly; most visitors respected the authority of MIB and did not blatantly attack like this. Severus shook his head as he mentally totted up the violations already committed this day.

At Lucius’ signal, they exited the car on the far side under the cover of the laser fire. “Hermione,” said Severus over the noise, “we’re going to have to Apparate directly into the house. Take my arm.” 

He twisted on the spot, and there came the familiar pull of Apparition. But then came shout from Lucius and a not-so-familiar swooping sensation, and he knew something had gone wrong in transit. They landed heavily on their feet, and Severus opened his eyes to find they were standing behind the barn near where they had parked the car. Lucius popped into existence beside them, swearing. “Whatever that bloody git managed to do, the house is somehow warded against Apparition!” he shouted. “We have to get in the front door. Plan B.” 

Lucius took off at a run, firing his own weapon, which effectively served to draw their enemy’s attention away from the Bentley. Severus took Hermione’s hand again and they ran back to the car under the shield of his _Protego_. Peeking around the boot, they found that Torlocks, at least a dozen of them, had arrayed themselves along the front of the house and were firing their weapons anything they seemed to think was moving. At least twice, they wound up hitting each other, which was a mercy, but did little to thin their ranks.

“What’s Plan B?” asked Hermione. 

Severus threw her a hard smile. “Split up, cover each other, and bluff like hell,” he replied. 

“Oh, Plan B sounds _marvelous_ ,” she replied snidely. “I’m _filled_ with confidence. Why didn't you just call for backup?” 

“Don’t need it. Allow me to show you why we brought the car.” He pulled the Bentley’s key chain out of a pocket and pressed a button on the fob. The rear boot popped open, revealing a veritable arsenal. 

“Merlin,” breathed Hermione. 

“Nigel!” Lucius’ commanding voice came to them from somewhere vaguely above the barn. “This is MIB. You and your associates are surrounded. Drop your weapons and surrender to the authorities!” 

They didn’t. “We have our orders!” bellowed Nigel.

“Yes, we know, we know.” Severus groused, rummaged in the boot. “All this trouble over somebody’s Merlin-be-damned pet.” 

The Torlocks turned their attention to the Bentley again, and the metal was growing hot to the touch. “This car won’t protect us for much longer,” Hermione warned. Severus pulled out several large, lethal-looking weapons, Shrunk them quickly and loaded his trouser pockets. The last weapon he left full size, hefting it confidently.

“Wands have limited use in a direct attack against a Torlock. Something about their thick skins. Here.” He pressed a tiny gun into her left hand. “This is called a silver trinket. Watch out—the thing has a kick. And here are some other items.” He tipped a few things into her hand. Awkwardly, she transferred them all to her pockets. 

“Ready?”

“Hell, no!”

“Follow me!”

They rolled out from behind the car. Severus and Lucius alternated attracting the Torlocks’ full attention while they traded gunfire. Hermione stuck to firing Stunning hexes, which had no physical effect, but did serve to dazzle the eyes of the alien enemy. Torlocks growled and began to shoot more erratically. Some bolts fired into the dirt and kicked up tremendous plumes of dust that made it all the harder to see. 

They ducked behind a woodpile stacked nearly five feet high, where they were joined by Lucius. “Quite an evening, wouldn’t you say?” he asked, peering around at the farmhouse. 

“No! Your Plan B is going to get us all killed, Malfoy!” 

“Not if you quit acting like a damsel in distress,” he said, looking down his nose at her with an imperious air. “Stop firing hexes like a third-year and think like an agent.” 

“I’m _not_ an agent!” she snarled, but she reached in her pocket and gingerly pulled out the silver handgun. 

Severus Apparated to the barn roof to cover them both on this last leg of the fight. He watched Lucius stand and take a hard run along the last thirty feet or so of open ground. Hermione, to her credit, covered him well by firing upon the Torlocks, knocking out a fair few. There were only three or four Torlocks left standing by the time Lucius turned and flicked a few tiny grenades in their direction. With an unholy roar, the grenades effectively randomized the rest of the enemies until they lay unconscious in the dirt.

Severus’ ears rang painfully in the silence following the gunfight. At Lucius’ signal, Severus and Hermione joined him on the porch, wands and weapons at the ready. 

“Obojjni, this is MIB,” called Severus. “You’re in violation of a _stunning_ array of interstellar regulations. Come out and surrender at once.”

Then there came a deafening voice that seemed to emanate from everywhere. “I would like to, sir, but I’m afraid that would be impossible,” declared the voice. “You will simply have to come in.”


	5. Chapter Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finished at last! Hope you enjoyed. Your comments are always welcome.

* * *

“Ready?”

“Ready.”

“What, you’re just going to _walk in_?”

“Hermione…”

“You don’t know what could be waiting in there!”

“Then by all means, stay out _here_.“

“Severus, she’s only a civilian. It’s well past time to Obliviate—“

“What? How _dare_ you even _consider_ Obliviating me?—“

The latch of the door clicked just then, cutting off all argument. They each took an involuntary step back and covered the door with wands and guns. The door creaked on its hinges, revealing a gloomy interior. Then a tiny face appeared, and they stared down in shock at the very creature who had been at the heart of the whole day’s troubles. 

“Come. Be quick,” said the werty distinctly. “Not much time.” It turned and ran away with a flip of its tail, leaving the door ajar.

“Oh, thank Merlin, it’s still alive!” exclaimed Hermione as she touched her ear where the Babel fish lay. “Come on, you two.”

“I thought you were so keen to stay outside,” replied Lucius nastily.

“Shut up, Malfoy.” 

She grasped the doorknob, but Severus moved to step in front of her, followed closely by Lucius, and the two wizards preceded her into the house. 

Nothing about the neglected interior looked as if an alien lived there, except rather less furniture than was usual in a residence, and rather more sealed boxes and crates with indecipherable labels attached. They made their way through the dark front rooms and down a hall that seemed preternaturally long. When they reached what ought to have been the kitchen, they stopped in their tracks. 

They found a brightly-lit command center, all screens and communication equipment. In the middle of the black and white linoleum floor stood a glass bowl as big as a bathtub, filled with what Severus at first believed was tar-colored jelly. From the depths, three sticks waved at them. Then he realized the sticks were actually eyes on stems, twisting about like garden snakes dancing in a bowl of lava. 

Hermione, clearly revolted, clapped a hand over her mouth. It reminded Severus that he himself was supposed to be a professional. He calmly stepped up to the glass bowl. “Obojjni, I presume,” he said. “I am Agent White, this is Agent Black, and we are—”

“—with MIB, yes, so you said,” the alien interrupted. Its sonorous voice came from everywhere around them—speakers in the walls, perhaps. “I don’t know you,” it continued. “Where is Agent Gold?” 

“He retired long ago,” replied Lucius. “Agent White and I are in charge of this sector now—a fact your henchmen knew, yet they deliberately fired on authorized MIB personnel just the same.” 

“Yes, attacking MIB agents, violating a direct cease and desist order, stealing an alien under protection of MIB,” Severus continued. “Your Torlocks have violated the terms of your work visas in at least half a dozen ways. Worse than that, you’ve totaled my favorite car.”

The eye stems drooped slightly. “I am sorry about the poor reception just now. I’ll never hire Torlocks again—they are so literal about following orders. Now that you’re in, I suppose you’re here to collect the werty we rescued.”

“Rescued? You mean stole!” cried Hermione. 

“Who is this?” demanded Obojjni, craning its stems. “What language is it speaking?” 

Severus turned to Hermione and spoke in a low voice. “Your Babel fish lets you _understand_ Galactic, but not speak it. And our friend here does not wear a translator.” To the alien, Severus pitched his voice several degrees chillier. “Our associate is correct. That werty belongs to the leader of the Votolians, You are trafficking in contraband. We’re here to retrieve it in order to avoid an intergalactic incident.”

“Oh, so that’s the problem.” Obojjni’s eye stems gave a syncopated wave that somehow conveyed a sense of whimsy. “I wondered where Votolius entered into the picture. He always did have a somewhat fluid concept of ownership. It must be because he has an entire planet named after him, the egotistical arse.

“My dear friends,” continued the squelching alien, “you are laboring under a misapprehension. The werty you are looking is no longer in any danger.”

“It’s not?” said Severus.

“No. _She_ is in her rightful place.” The voice sounded positively smug.

“ _Is_ she? And where might that be?” asked Lucius. Peevishness had crept into his voice. Severus shared his frustration; he felt as if they had suddenly become unwitting players in the third act of some humorous space opera. 

“Why, in the hands of my clients, who have paid me handsomely to recover her.”

Severus took a deep breath. They were almost home now. “And who are your clients?” he asked patiently.

“Oh, they call themselves the Society. I’ll call them in. They’ve been busy preparing for departure, you see. But they said they particularly wanted to meet your associate here before they go.”

“Sorry?” Hermione looked distinctly alarmed. 

Finally, Obojjni made a complicated series of motions with his eye stems—apparently these remotely controlled all the machinery in the converted farmhouse. A hatchway opened under the sink, and Hermione gasped when two dozen chattering werties tumbled into the room. She dropped to her knees with a laugh of delight, and they crowded round to pat her arms and head affectionately. 

“You see, my Torlocks have been looking for the lost werty on behalf of her friends, who call themselves the Society. I agreed to help them recover her—for a handsome fee. When the Society arrived on Earth a few days ago, they gave me the means to trace her. Nigel finally had success this afternoon, but unfortunately, MIB came upon on the scene at just the same time.” He moved his sinuous eye stems in a bizarre parody of a shrug. “No hard feelings, I hope.”

Hermione stood up with several werties cuddled in her arms. “So these creatures _are_ the Society! They traveled here on their own power!” she exclaimed. “Severus, I don’t understand. Why is MIB helping this Votolius capture a sentient being and keep it enslaved?”

Lucius and Severus exchanged a long look before stowing away their weapons and wands. Severus grimaced. “MIB didn’t know werties were sentient, Hermione. Believe me, this changes everything.”

“Werties are space-capable,” continued Obojjni, “but they prefer to keep to their own system. As the story goes, Votolius was on holiday when he stole a member of the Society right off her planet. Ever since then, they’ve been putting out feelers to get her back. When they learned she was here on Earth, I took their contract and sent out scouts to pick her up.

“Now the Society is preparing to go home. All they want is to be left alone on their planet. You can understand, can’t you?”

Hermione nodded soberly. Lucius and Severus exchanged another look. “Leave that part to us,” said Lucius at last. “If privacy is what the Society wants, privacy is what it will get.”

* * *

The backup team, excited to be called into action, spent what was left of the night mopping up the farm and taking every alien into custody. Severus rattled off a lengthy list of charges against Obojjni, who merely shrugged his eye stems philosophically. “It was all in a good cause,” he said piously when Severus finished. “Half these charges will be dropped due to extenuating circumstances. Anyway, I’m just as glad to be leaving. I’m sick of the Earth. It’s this dreadful gravity. I want to go home, where I can get some exercise.”

Outside, while Lucius oversaw the loading of the MIB lorries while the werties continued to load their ship, Hermione and Severus found themselves with a moment to breathe. He took her hand as they strolled in the field under the wide night sky. “Just think,” Hermione quipped. “Only this afternoon, I was pitching a survey of the house-elves.”

She stopped and began picking grenades and other gadgets out of her pockets to hand to Severus. He smirked as he accepted transfer, remembering how, in his panic over her safety, he had nearly thrown them all at her. “You managed to put up with quite a lot today, didn’t you?”

“Well, actually, I enjoyed it—even dodging gunfire, a bit, as perverse as that sounds.” She grinned back at him. “There’s so much out there to learn! It’s been the best day of my life for that reason.”

“Lucius was impressed with you too, I think.”

Her smile dropped away. “Yes, well, Malfoy can keep his opinions to himself.” 

Severus had never been any good at discussing private thoughts with others, but he sensed he ought to make some effort, for Lucius’s sake. “Hermione, during the war, the Malfoy family made some … questionable choices,” he began. “They were prejudiced in favor of blood status from days of old, and I don’t excuse it. You know how our world is. But when the Dark Lord rose to power, Lucius Malfoy had many untenable situations thrust upon him. We all did.” He looked at her directly to emphasize his point. “He lost everything that mattered, and it changed him. If you asked him his thoughts on the matter, I think you would learn much.”

Hermione considered his words. “If you say so,” she said at last. “I can reserve judgment—for now. But I don’t think I could possibly talk to him.”

“Believe me, if you get him started, you won’t be able to get a word in edgewise. Take it from someone who has done a lot of listening. Go on.” He sent her on her way, then walked around the corner of the barn to see a man about a horse.

Sometime later, Lucius, Severus and Hermione stood in the corn field under the stars and said good-bye as the Society’s rescue committee boarded their ship to head back to their home system. Hermione’s new friend gave her an extra-long hug before jumping in the hatch and closing the door. 

Soon the ship departed, its tail lights growing faint in the night sky. Hermione waved enthusiastically, and Lucius rolled his eyes at this amateurish behavior. “They can’t see you,” he pointed out. Before Hermione could formulate a suitable reply, Severus offered her his arm and she wound her hands about his bicep with a suggestive smile. The three of them made their way back to the house, admiring the intricate crop circles left behind by the ship. 

Back in the farm yard, Severus’s mood turned dour again as he inspected the smoking ruins that had been his prized Bentley. Hermione looked on in sympathy. “We’ll get you another one,” she reassured him. “That Aubergenie should be made to pay restitution to MIB, don’t you think?”

“I liked _this_ car,” he replied glumly. 

“Oh, for Merlin’s sake, pull yourself together,” said Lucius.

* * *

Over bracing cups of tea in Quarr’s office, Severus and Lucius debriefed while Hermione sat nearby, working to pull the Babel fish out of her ear. 

“Only one last thing to do,” said Severus. He and Lucius flipped a Knut to see which of them would have to play Good Cop to the other’s Bad Cop. Lucius lost, so he gamely stood to one side and practiced making non-ironic expressions of sympathy while Severus and Quarr raised the planet Votolia on the giant communications screen.

Severus proceeded to deliver a blistering lecture to the normally pompous cult leader. “You _failed_ to mention the creature we were pursuing was a Class 3-F,” he growled. “Trafficking in sentient beings? Violating interplanetary civil rights? Try as you may to shift the blame to any of your followers, this incident is on _your_ head, and yours alone. You’re looking at the possibility of a very long prison stretch.”

“I didn’t know!” Votolius spread his hands in supplication. “I had never seen such a creature before! It was so friendly and cute. I didn’t know it was sentient. Please, Agent White, there must be some way to convince you of my innocence.”

Lucius stepped in, wearing the most benign expression he could manage. “Well, as it happens, there may not be anyone to press charges against you.” 

“What do you mean?” Votolius asked timidly. 

“Shortly after the werty testified, she succumbed to a virulent case of… erm, of _echolalia_.”

“Echolalia?”

“Echolalia,” Severus confirmed.

“Echolalia,” whispered Votolius. “I’ve never heard of it.”

Lucius nodded soberly, his eyes swimming with concern. “Oh, yes. The whole Lake District had to be quarantined.”

Severus crossed his arms and glared. “Do you know the punishment for bringing a disease-ridden specimen to the planet Earth? You never even declared it when you visited. What do you have to say for yourself?”

“My dear agent White, I had no idea, I assure you! Is it … I mean, is echolalia _contagious_?” whispered Votolius. “My poor followers …”

Severus stared down his nose at the nervous alien. “You and your people escaped contagion. Barely.” Votolius visibly sagged in relief. “But I advise you, never return to that system. You were very lucky today. We are willing to let this go with a warning _if_ in the future you and the Votolians will be mindful of checking all fruits, vegetables and pets at Customs.”

“We will. I assure you, you can count on us.” After a few more minutes of applied groveling, Votolius ended the call with a pledge to stay on the straight and narrow from here on out. They believed he might actually do it—at least for a little while. 

Quarr, who had stood off-camera, turned to Hermione. “You did well today, Miss,” he said bluntly. “How would you like to apply for the MIB UK program?”

Hermione hitched a surprised look upon her face. “Who, me?” She frowned ostentatiously, as if wishing to take a few moments to think over the prospect. Severus was not fooled in the least.

* * *

_Four months later_

MIB UK’s armory had always reminded Severus of the Department of Mysteries, except with less warmth and cheeriness. Today he and Hermione were heading up a weapons inventory. Trailing behind with clipboards were three worms—skinny little oiks that walked upright and filled the hall with raucous laughter over in-jokes they never bothered to translate.

After a particularly loud outburst, Hermione complained to Severus. “I do believe they’re on about my hair,” she said as she smoothed down her curly mane. “When I get around to that worm language course, I’ll—I’ll rip their little arms off.”

Lucius popped his head in the door. “There you are. Aren’t you finished yet? Leave the rest to the worms. I’m told if we are not out of the building in fifteen minutes, they’ll have us chased out.”

At a staff meeting the day before, Quarr had put his foot down, saying Agent Black and Agent White never seemed to take any time off, so he would have to pull rank and insist they vacate the building for at least a few weeks. Severus immediately asked MIB’s top recruit along on a mini-break holiday, to which she demurely agreed. Their relationship had begun to flourish, much to Severus’s satisfaction. 

The three of them made their way down the hall to the elevator, Lucius and Hermione lagging a bit behind to talk in courteous tones. During the months Hermione had spent in training, she and Lucius had taken opportunities to get to know each other, and while they could not be considered friends yet, at least they had begun to understand each other better. It was a start.

“Have a good time,” said Lucius when they reached the parking garage. “Have you selected a lovely retreat somewhere?”

Severus held up the key to a brand-new Aston Martin. “Hermione has programmed the coordinates, but she says I am not allowed to know until we’re away.”

“How precious.” Lucius shook his head. “Mucking about the countryside on holiday. You two deserve each other.”

“I hope so,” laughed Hermione.

“I didn’t mean it as a compliment.”

He saluted ironically as the car left the garage. Hermione returned his wave from the passenger seat. “Poor Lucius. Maybe we should have invited him along,” she said. 

“Not a chance in hell,” Severus replied. 

“Still, I can tell he’s not all that keen to spend time alone in that drafty house.” She frowned when she caught sight of Severus smirking. “What?” 

“Don’t worry. I have a feeling he’ll manage somehow,” he remarked.

* * *

Lucius Apparated to the front gates of Malfoy Manor. He had not been by in months, but when he walked through the foyer, he immediately knew something had changed. A scent in the air, or perhaps something less definable; a familiar presence that could only be …

"Narcissa," he sighed. 

She appeared in the door to the library. “I wondered when you turned up,” she said by way of greeting. 

His eyes hungrily took in the robes of deepest green, the shape of her, the ice-blonde of her hair, her deep blue eyes. She moved across the floor, and he absorbed her walk, reacquainting himself with her every movement. He found his wife every bit as beautiful as the day she had shipped off her bags and left him. 

Narcissa stepped near, and he brought his hand up to cup her cheek. She sighed at his touch. The look she gave him was affectionate, though tentative. “You’re looking well,” she said. “More than well.”

“So are you,” he managed.

“I've heard you have an occupation now. Is it true?” 

"Where did you hear...?"

"Severus. He wrote to me."

"Of course. Well, yes, it's true. I’ve a new situation now, in London."

"I see.” She flashed a smile that held a secret. “And does this new situation have anything to do with the monster in your pensieve?" 

He felt his hands turn cold, and he had to resist the wild urge to jump back and neurolyze his own wife, but he quickly regained all sense of proportion. She must have taken his reaction as an affirmative, because she smiled more broadly and moved all the way into his arms. "How nice for you, dear," she said. "You're so much easier to live with when you have something to do."

**The End**


End file.
